


Paper Cups

by andachippedcup



Series: andachippedcup's Olicity Summer Sizzle Fics [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Felicity intentionally annoying customer Oliver, Christmas, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Hanukkah, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-08 05:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19864102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andachippedcup/pseuds/andachippedcup
Summary: Felicity is an overworked and underpaid coffee shop employee who absolutely detests precisely one regular customer: Oliver Queen. Day in and day out, his visits create headaches for her and she does her best to avoid interacting with him. Then one day, she gets a great idea: she'll write the wrong name on his coffee cup. This petty (but amusing) act leads to an escalating rivalry as Oliver requests more outlandish, complicated drinks and Felicity comes up with new names to incorrectly call him by, each more ridiculous than the last.[Olicity Summer Sizzle 'Enemies to Lovers AU' Prompt]





	1. Chapter 1

She’s not a fan of his. 

The other baristas give her a hard time for it but Felicity doesn’t care. Every time she sees _him_ come into the coffee shop, she ducks into the back to work on inventory or clean something. Felicity would take cleaning toilets over interacting with Oliver _frakking_ Queen. 

So instead of dealing with him, she opts for avoidance. 

And avoidance has worked pretty well for her, up until this point. She’s been working here at the coffee shop for a little over two years now as a way to fund her real passion – tech. People talk about how so many of the greats – Disney, Microsoft, Apple – started in garages. Felicity doesn’t have a garage. Felicity has a cramped studio apartment that doesn’t even break 500 square feet and can barely contain her bed, a bookshelf, and a workspace for her to build her future tech dreams into reality.

This job is a soul crushing exercise in misery that - now that she’s a manager - offers health and dental. Suffice it to say, she’s highly motivated to get her tech startup… _started up_. The sooner that happens, the sooner she’ll be out of this appalling uniform polo/apron combo, and into power skirts and blouses. (And cute shoes - god she wants to wear cute shoes and not closed toe sneakers). 

But if that’s ever going to happen, she cannot murder Oliver ‘the coffee shop’s best customer’ Queen. And boy, that’s a heck of a lot harder than it sounds. 

He bothers her - for a number of reasons, one of which is the way he saunters in here day after day like he owns the place - which in truth, he probably very easily could. She’d known he was rich but a little digging (re: _hacking_ ) had revealed he was like… _mega_ rich. As in… ‘the interest his family’s accounts accrued in a single day could probably fund her tech startup’ levels of rich. 

So day in and day out, mega rich billionaire heir boy comes sweeping in like he owns the place. He’d tried flirting with her the first few times she had to serve him, before she wised up and started ducking for cover as soon as he came through the door. Felicity wasn’t about to swoon for him just because he was rich and attractive. 

She reads the news. She knows all about his playboy ways and she is _so_ not interested. So he can bat his eyes at her and try to flatter her all he wants but she is immune to his charm. The fact that her disinterest clearly annoys him only makes ignoring his attempts all the more fun. 

He never makes eye contact when he orders his drinks from the other servers, as if he’s too good to make the time or space in his day to acknowledge the existence of the people serving him. Instead his focus is elsewhere, on goodness knows what. He has a tendency to shred napkins at his table, like some sort of human paper shredder. Invariably, she’s sweeping small scraps of paper off the floor and off the table after each of his visits. And every damn time he comes in, he seems to ask for something else after he’s been served because apparently remembering his order and whatever odds and ends he wants is just too big a task for his pea sized brain. So instead, the staff have to make multiple trips on his account, wasting precious time in their busy day to bring Oliver Queen creamer or an extra cup or sugar. 

And he lingers. Because ordering a coffee to go would just be too much to ask for. No, instead Oliver generally takes up a table for well over an hour (sometimes even two) and he certainly doesn’t tip as if he’s a bonafide billionaire burning up precious table space. And anytime _he’s_ around, there’s usually an obnoxious gaggle of women gawking at him and making fools of themselves by trying to get his attention.

Felicity has noticed that when Oliver is in the coffee shop, people start treating the place and its employees like garbage. As if looking down on their servers is going to attract the attention and approval of the local billionaire. And never once has Felicity noticed Oliver intervening. Not _once_. He doesn’t react at all to people’s shameful attempts at berating the staff to make themselves look good (a completely flawed strategy, in Felicity’s mind, but that’s beside the point). The point is, if she ever needed a knight in shining white armor, Oliver Queen is not who she’d look to in order to find him. 

It makes her so mad, she could scream. Or slap him. But she doesn’t. Instead, every time she sees his stupidly handsome, overconfident face walk in the door, she grabs a mop and a ‘wet floor’ sign and heads for the bathroom. Better a dirty bathroom to clean than an ungrateful billionaire to serve. It baffles her that he can stand idly by while people behave like such complete cave trolls around him and it’s yet another strike against him in her book. 

It’s a typical Tuesday when she sees him come strolling through the door with the absolute most fake, forced air of nonchalance imaginable. It makes her lip curl before she can school her expression. She can’t duck into the bathrooms to clean because Curtis is already doing that. She and Alena are swamped on the front end and Rory called out sick today so they’re short staffed too. They’ve managed to survive past the normal morning rush but for some reason, midmorning is still slammed. 

Felicity can’t hide in the back from him this time. So she’ll have to settle for swapping spots with Alena so that the brunette is on the cash register while Felicity makes and runs the orders. Thankfully, Alena doesn’t care one way or the other if she has to interact with Oliver Queen. To Felicity’s chagrin, Alena actually seems to get a little starry eyed every time he comes in, though she’d _never_ openly admit to it. 

Whatever. It’s none of Felicity’s business if Alena wants to ogle the guy, unimpressive tipper and bad flirter that he is. 

He’s one customer away in line and Felicity is already practicing her deep breathing techniques as she anticipates having to put together his order and run it out to his table (and the three or four infuriating trips that will follow, for cream and sugar and whatever else he thinks of belatedly). It’s about this time that the young woman in front of him in line places her order and suddenly, Oliver Queen is no longer Felicity’s most annoying customer.

The woman is young, probably in her early twenties, and blonde. She’s pretty, in a very store-bought kind of way but that’s not what gets Felicity’s hackles up. It’s her condescending tone as she deals with Alena, while ordering the most idiotic beverage perhaps in the shop’s history.

She’s ordered a decaf soy latte with an extra shot and cream. It’s completely contradictory, but it’s not Felicity’s drink order, so it normally wouldn’t be a problem. But the woman has specified to Alena that she’s lactose intolerant and she doesn’t want so much as a drop of lactose invading her precious soy latte. 

To which end, Alena has gently tried to confirm that the woman wants cream, only to receive a scathing look and confirmation that _yes_ , she wants cream, accompanied with an eye-roll. 

Felicity keeps filling orders as she watches the scene unfold, transfixed by the display of utter stupidity before her. Alena tactfully clears her throat and takes a breath. 

“We can absolutely whip that up for you, Miss, however if we add cream to your latte, that will not be a lactose free beverage.” Alena is the consummate professional and Felicity’s got to give her credit for not just filling the order as requested and letting the woman go. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” The young woman responds hotly and her words draw both Alena and Felicity up short. 

“E-Excuse me, ma’am?” Alena stammers, her nerves starting to creep in. She’s just a part time employee trying to put herself through college - being confronted by angry customers is not exactly something she’s accustomed to. 

“I said, do you think I’m stupid?” The woman repeats, rolling her eyes at Alena with a scoff. 

“N-No. Not at all, I just wanted to explain that if we fill your order with the cream in your drink-” Alena tries to explain, only to be cut off. 

“I think I know a little more about living lactose-free than you do.” She snaps and Alena is struggling now with what to say to respond to this level of aggressive idiocy. 

“Ma’am, I just wanted to explain that our cream has lactose in it, so it wi-”

“I know what does and doesn’t have lactose in it.” The woman interrupts, brazenly looking around the shop. “Where’s your manager? I want to speak with a manager. I cannot believe I am being treated like this.” 

From behind Alena, Felicity slams the metal prep cup down on the counter, prompting everyone in the shop to jump, startled. Quivering with rage, Felicity walks the short distance to the register, her hand lighting on Alena’s shoulder to relieve her. Alena takes the opportunity to melt into the background, clearly eager to be anywhere other than here.

“Hi,” Felicity greets the woman with a honeyed tone and a fake smile, “you asked for a manager? That would be me. And as my _wonderful_ employee over here explained to you, there is lactose in dairy. And cream is dairy. Therefore, if you want your order as you ordered it, it _will_ have lactose. So, you can either have that, or order something else that is actually dairy-free. Or you can go to another coffee shop, it’s your choice. So, do you need anything else or will that be all? Because as you can see, we have other customers to attend to.” Felicity finishes with a tilt of her head, waiting for the blonde’s response. 

The woman is plainly flustered and unhappy with the results of her demand for a manager but instead of fighting, she simply storms out of the shop, slamming the door behind her. Felicity is left at the register as Oliver sheepishly steps forward a few long seconds after the woman has left. 

He’s opening his mouth to say something when Felicity cuts him off.

“What will you have today?” She’s seen him chat up Alena and the others and she’s _so_ not in the mood for his paltry attempts at flirting today. Nope. His mouth hangs open for a moment before he catches himself, swallows, and orders. 

“A large coffee, three shots of espresso, extra hot, with two sugars in the raw.” He murmurs and all the while, Felicity can feel his eyes on her as she rings him and his stupidly overcaffeinated order up. 

She finishes with him and gives him his change and then, on a whim, she decides to pull a stunt that makes her feel _so_ much better about the whole angry customer business and being forced to interact with him.

She asks for his name.

“Name for the order?” She briskly queries as she grabs up a paper cup. She realizes belatedly that Alena still has the traditional black sharpie in her apron pocket, so Felicity is left with the only writing device remaining at the register - a red pen. Acting unfazed, she holds the pen expectantly over the cup, awaiting his response. He’s already pocketed his change and is starting to walk away when her question brings him to a halt and he spins back to look at her, his brows raised.

He’s so accustomed to being known and recognized that he’s never had to give his name here before. It’s a novel experience for him, that much is certain, and she’s glorying in his complete surprise and speechlessness.

“Uh… ‘Oliver’.” He responds at last, blinking at her owlishly. Felicity fakes a smile and nods. As he walks away, she contemplates for a moment and then, feeling emboldened by her victory over the obnoxious blonde woman, she writes:

‘ _Oscar’_

It’s the little things in life. But this? This is going to delight her for _weeks_. She even watches out of the corner of her eye when Alena delivers his drink to him. Felicity can tell the precise moment he catches sight of his name on the cup, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion and then irritation before he lifts his head towards the register. Felicity makes sure to look busy when he does, but she’s definitely watching in her peripheral vision. He looks from the cup to her and back again with a little frown. Felicity replays the memory of it in her head for the rest of her shift, glorying in the annoyance written in every line on his face. 

\-----

He comes in again Monday of the following week and this time, instead of hiding in the back or stepping out to clean the bathroom, Felicity mans the register. She takes his order with aplomb, not even batting an eye when he asks for a ridiculous amount of syrup, sugar, and milk in his coffee (is it even really _coffee_ at that point or is it just a travesty in a to-go cup?). But as the transaction concludes, she stoically asks him his name again and he’s once more taken aback by the question but answers her, carefully enunciating the syllables.

“The name is ‘ _Ol-i-ver’_.” 

She nods and delightedly writes ‘ _Othmar_ ’ on the cup that she hands to Rory, who blinks once at it and then at her before taking it with a shake of his head and a smile. 

It becomes her new favorite pastime. 

Everyone at work soon learns of Felicity’s new response to seeing Oliver walk in the door and they are all quick to accommodate her as soon as they see him coming. Everyone is amused by the situation, either because of Oliver’s response or because of Felicity’s. She’s basically a grinning fool for the rest of the day after doing the old ‘ask his name and then intentionally write the wrong one’ routine. And Oliver, in response, seems to be upping the ante by asking for more and more complex and time consuming drinks. But none of Felicity’s staff cares about the complexity of the order at this point - they’re all too amused by the escalating feud between their manager and one of their most frequent and influential customers. 

Each time he comes in, she asks his name and each time, she writes something different and incorrect on the cup.

He’s ‘Omar’ one day, ‘Edgar’ the next. ‘Elmer’ and then ‘Evander’. She tries to come up with names that at the very least, have a similar ending sound to ‘Oliver’ so that it’s at least semi-plausible. But after a month of this game and his retaliatory action of intensifying his orders, she stops worrying about plausibility and she just leans into the ridiculousness of it all. Who cares if the name on the cup sounds nothing like his actual name? All the better. 

Felicity is having far too much fun writing the wrong name to stop now. ‘Olivo’ and ‘Alexander’ join the ranks of her many names for him. One day she decides to really screw with him and she writes ‘Oliv-ier’ - so close and yet so far. His expression when he reads the cup that day is so priceless that it almost sends her into peals of laughter then and there. As it is, she has to excuse herself so she can duck into the back and have a fit of silent laughter, joyful tears streaming down her face as the new hire, Roy, watches on in wide eyed amusement. 

He comes in one day not long after she’s finished rereading the _Harry Potter_ series and she takes supreme delight in writing ‘Ollivander’ on his cup, convinced he won’t get the reference or remember that she was reading one of the books on her break last week while he was in, lingering at his usual table.

One week she goes for broke and writes ‘Akbar’ on the cup and it’s so ridiculous that even _she_ breaks character a little as she writes it, the corners of her mouth just barely flickering into a miniscule smile. 

She’s so wrapped up in the name game, as she likes to call it, that she doesn’t notice at first that he’s making eye contact with her now when he orders his drinks. When she does realize it, she dismisses it not as attentiveness but rather, his attempts at getting into her head and beating her at this game of theirs. Fat chance of that happening. He can just go bat his really, seriously, _insanely_ blue eyes at someone else - she’s immune to his charm. 

Then, he starts bringing people with him when he visits. Sometimes it’s his bodyguard. _John. Small pour over coffee_ . She likes him. Other times, it’s a friend of his Felicity also recognizes from the newspapers - Tommy Merlyn. He’s a bit much at times and he sometimes rankles her with his boisterous antics but he’s still not as annoying to her as Oliver. _Tommy. Doppio espresso_ . Her favorite is when his sister joins him, in part because she seems to delight in the wrong names on his cups as much as Felicity does. _Thea. Large Flat White._ Even when Oliver is accompanied by them, Felicity always asks his name and she always misspells it on the cup. After hearing Tommy call him ‘Ollie’ one day, she writes that on his cup because why not? It’s still not the name he’s giving her when she asks, so she feels like this still counts as an intentional misspelling. 

She’s not going to go soft suddenly just because he’s brought more business in the door. No way. 

After a few more months of the name game, Felicity realizes his table is impeccably clean - no more shredded napkins and scraps of paper floating around the shop in his wake anymore. She isn’t sure what to attribute this to but she’s convinced it’s not due to a sudden change of heart or anything so extreme as all that. More likely, one or all of his occasional companions called him out for being a messmaker, she decides. 

Time passes and they’re barreling towards the holiday season. The coffee shop’s normal smells are invaded by the added scents of peppermint and eggnog as the seasonal syrups and drinks make their appearance. Felicity’s working overtime as Alena cuts back on her shifts so she can study for her final exams and Rene takes time off to spend time with his daughter and to celebrate the holidays. In between pulling fifty to sixty hour work weeks, she finds the time to decorate the place with garland and lights, mistletoe, candy canes, and even a little Christmas tree. She also carefully adds a menorah, and a few dreidels, plus a string of white and blue lights here and there. 

There’s space for more than one holiday in the month, so there can be space for more than one holiday in the coffee shop. She makes a stocking for each of the shop employees in either red or green, although she gives herself and Rory blue with their names in silver and white puffy paint. It’s festive, seeing all of their names on the wall like that.

_Felicity. Roy. Alena. Caitlin. Rory. Curtis. Rene. Cisco. Dinah. Barry._ They’re a random mish mash of personalities and backgrounds, but love them or hate them, they’re her work family and it makes her smile to see their names altogether like that. They’re a team, even if they’re never here at the shop all at once. 

The long hours aren’t fun but the generally heightened sense of generosity of their patrons means her staff’s at least making decent tip money. 

He comes in the week before Christmas with Thea and they order. Thea goes first, at Oliver’s insistence. The brunette is her usual chipper self, and she beams when she catches sight of Felicity in her normal spot at the register. 

“Felicity!” Thea crows warmly, beaming at her like they’re old friends. “Merry almost Christmas!”

“Merry almost Christmas, Thea.” Felicity smiles, unable to help the warmth she feels at this familiarity. She loves having regulars who know her name and make polite conversation. It breaks up the monotony of her day and makes her feel like she’s actually seen by _someone_ , even as most rush past without so much as a ‘please’ or a ‘thank you’. “Long time no see.” Felicity adds, because she hasn’t seen the younger woman since Thanksgiving time, when they were still pushing pumpkin flavored _everything_.

“Tell me about it. I practically had to _beg_ my brother to take me out for coffee.” Thea always is very pointed to refer to Oliver as ‘her brother’ or by anything other than his name - her way of playing into the whole ‘wrong name on the coffee cup’ game. Felicity loves it. 

“It’s like he’s afraid I might embarrass him in public. Don’t know why, I wouldn’t _dream_ of doing that.” Thea adds, her voice rising in volume just a touch as she casts a knowing look over her shoulder at Oliver, who shakes his head and ducks his face - but Felicity still sees the smile, and the soft blush in his cheeks.

Aww. He’s embarrassed. How cute. (Woah - did she really just think that about Oliver? She did. Weird.) 

“I don’t know where he gets that idea.” Felicity teases back gently, picking up a cup as she readies herself for Thea’s order. “Will you have your usual?” Felicity asks brightly, but Thea isn’t going with her normal order today, surprisingly. 

“Actually, can I get a peppermint latte?” Thea requests and Felicity smiles at her as she punches her order into the register and then runs Thea’s credit card. 

“No flat white today, huh?” She asks and Thea smiles at her with a chuckle.

“I’m feeling festive, had to go with something a little more Christmassy.” Thea responds with a grin as she accepts her card back. Oliver steps up to the register as Thea finishes up, his eyes firmly trained on Felicity as she turns her focus to him.

“What can I get you?” 

For a moment, he looks like he’s struggling for air. He opens and closes his mouth several times but not so much as a syllable comes out. Her brows lift expectantly and she’s starting to worry she needs to call for an ambulance when he finally chokes out an order.

“I’ll have a large nonfat cappuccino, with eggnog syrup. And extra foam.” 

Felicity feels her eye twitch as he gives his order. Nonfat drinks don’t create foam well. So asking for a nonfat drink with extra foam? Is basically asking her to defy the laws of physics. He’s apparently brought his A+ annoying drink order game today. Despite this, she nods and inputs the order, then grabs up the cup and holds her sharpie over it, already cooking up her next name for him.

“Name for the order?” She asks and he leans forward just a smidge, smiling at her as he does so.

“ _Oliver_.” He says simply but clearly, his eyes now on her hands. 

Oh, so he wants to play that way, does he? 

She begins to write the letters, albeit _extremely_ slowly. She gets as far as ‘ _Ol’_ before he rocks back, satisfied, and departs the line to make space for the next customer. As soon as he’s gone, her hand speeds up as she finishes the name with a wicked little grin. 

When Cisco calls out the names for the orders a few minutes later, Thea is left howling with laughter at the table as Oliver goes to pick up the drinks for ‘Darling Thea’ and ‘Olaf’ with a little snowman drawing next to the name. Beneath both names, she’s also written ‘Happy Holidays!’ with a flourish. Before they leave, Oliver makes his way back to the register and fumbles for a moment before he pulls a bill out of his wallet and plunks it down inside the tip jar. His eyes meet hers for the briefest of moments and then slide away as he mumbles quietly to her.

“Happy Hanukkah.” 

Just as quickly as he says the words, he and Thea are gone, leaving her more than a little thunderstruck. _How did he know to wish her a Happy Hanukkah instead of a Merry Christmas?_ When she’s recovered enough to glance at the tip jar, she sees a crisply folded $50 bill amongst the crumpled ones and the occasional fives and her eyes go round with shock. 

Probably an accident, she dismisses. A guy like that doesn’t care if he throws down a twenty or a fifty instead of a one or a five. Heck, he wouldn’t notice if a $100 bill went missing from his pocket. Still, she can’t help the way her eyes slide back to the bill throughout the rest of the day. Maybe Thea put him up to it, she wonders, but a nagging feeling tells her that’s not the case. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to give a HUGE shout out to Elley for being my amazing beta and for suggesting Olaf as one of the names Felicity could call Oliver. Elley, you are quite simply the best and I am so thankful to have you as a friend and a sounding board! THANK YOU!

Christmas Eve, the shop is in a state of delirium. People are rushing in and out as they scramble to get last minute gifts. Gift cards fly off the stack and by the evening, Felicity is running dangerously low on peppermint syrup but the crowd has finally started to die as the regular shops close and people go home to their families. She’s relieved - tomorrow might be Christmas for most, but this year Hanukkah overlaps with the Christian holiday and so Felicity has plans to spend the day with her mother, who’s flying in tomorrow morning and leaving the following afternoon. 

Felicity still needs to clean up her studio apartment for her mother’s arrival. She’d meant to do it the night before, but a breakthrough on her prototype security system had kept her up late tinkering instead of cleaning. If she can get out on time tonight, she can go home and clean and still get a halfway decent night’s sleep before she has to pick her mom up from the airport. 

At an hour to close, Felicity sends Caitlin home early as a Christmas gift and tells her to enjoy the holiday with her fiancé. She’s left alone in the shop when, a half hour before closing time, the bell over the door jangles and a man walks in looking windswept and world weary. No small wonder - it’s nine thirty at night on Christmas Eve and by the looks of him, he’s had a hell of a day. 

“Hello, what can I get started for you?” Felicity inquires brightly. She leaves the table she was in the middle of wiping down and goes back to her usual post behind the counter. 

He doesn’t look at her, too concerned with checking his phone as he pulls it out of his jacket pocket. 

“Large coffee. Black.” He mutters, still not looking at her as he digs out his wallet and then waves a five dollar bill at her impatiently. Felicity bites her lip but makes no comment as she accepts the money and makes change for him, which he scoops up and dumps into his pocket without throwing so much as a penny in the tip jar. 

_He’s one of_ **_those_ ** _customers_ , she thinks to herself with a subtle shake of her head. She squares her shoulders and focuses on making the coffee. She’ll have to brew a fresh pot; this close to closing, she doesn’t have anything at the ready. 

She’s wiping down the counter and waiting for the coffee to finish when mister cell phone suddenly snaps to attention.

“Umm, _excuse me_. I’m still waiting on my drink over here. Chop chop.” He demands, going so far as to snap his fingers at her impatiently. 

Felicity bristles instinctively, not at all a fan of the man’s tone of voice and him snapping his fingers at her. Sadly, it’s not the first time she’s had this happen to her and it probably won’t be the last either. 

“Sir, I’m so sorry for the wait. I had to make a fresh pot of coffee, so I’m just waiting for it to finish brewing and then I’ll have that right out to you.” She hates this. She hates when customers with bad attitudes take it out on her and her staff. She hates apologizing when she’s plainly not in the wrong. But such is the life of those in the service industry. 

The alternative is to stand up to customers like him and, most likely, end up fired and unhirable. And much though she hates this uniform and apron, they’re more appealing than the alternative of being jobless and homeless. 

Felicity makes a point of getting the cup for the man’s coffee ready so that he can see she isn’t ignoring him and because the sooner she pours his drink, the sooner he can leave. The seconds drag by with painful slowness but finally, the pot of coffee is done. She hurries to pour his drink, thankful that he takes it black because that means she won’t have to spend even an extra second prepping it for him. She pops a lid on the cup and passes it to him with a forced smile. 

“There you go! Sorry about the wait.” 

He takes the cup without a word of thanks and starts to head for the door. But that’s when she hears a hiss and suddenly, he’s whirling back to face her. 

“You call this swill _coffee_ ?” He growls angrily, wrenching the lid off to peer into the dark liquid within his cup. “This is _dreadful_.” 

“I-I’m sorry sir, I can make another pot, if you’d like-” Felicity begins to try and placate him, but the man is in no mood. 

“Make me another? Well yeah, I’d say it’s the least you could do.” The man growls, pointedly dropping the open cup into the empty trash can. It hits the mouth of the receptacle and ricochets down into the container, sloshing out coffee on everything along the way. Felicity winces as she looks at the visible splashes all over the floor, the trash can, and the surrounding area. She’s going to have to clean splatters off of everything. _Great. So much for getting out of here on time_.

Felicity takes a deep breath. _He’s not worth it_. She does not need to lose her cool at this guy. She’s less than a half hour away from a full, glorious day off, which she hasn’t had in weeks. She will not let one grumpy customer ruin her night. 

She’s about to dump out the pot of coffee and make a new one when the bell over the door jangles again and the sound alone almost makes her cry.

She really does _not_ need a ‘just before close’ rush. Not tonight. _Any_ other night - just not this one. She’s exhausted, overworked, and feeling particularly mistreated by this guy and she just does _not_ need a bunch of irritable, last minute shoppers keeping her here late. 

Tears well in her eyes but she absolutely refuses to let them fall. Not now. Not in front of mister ‘make me another coffee’ guy. She won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Instead, she sucks in a sharp breath and tries to force a smile on her face.

“Hello!” She calls out in a strained voice, only to lift her eyes to the door to find none other than Oliver standing before her, dressed in a dark gray peacoat and a deep green beanie and matching scarf. There’s a smile on his face but as his eyes meet hers the smile wilts and his expression turns instantly to one of concern. Oliver quickly looks from Felicity to the customer, to the coffee all over the floor, and then back to Felicity.

“Is there a problem here?” Oliver’s voice is level but the expression on his face is dangerous and his eyes have gone ice cold. 

“Butt out buddy. Blondie here has it under control this time, don’t you sweetheart?” The man sneers and Felicity watches as Oliver’s hands curl into fists as a look of barely suppressed rage steals over his features. Uh oh. She seeks his gaze, intent on stopping him from doing something they might both regret. When at last, his eyes find hers, she gives a minute shake of her head and the message is clear. _Don’t._

“I’ve got it, yeah. It’s alright.” She assures Oliver because _no._ This guy isn’t worth starting a fight. And he’s definitely not worth the trouble he’d probably stir up if Oliver were to say or do anything. He’s the kind of jerk who has ‘class action lawsuit’ written all over his grubby little face. 

Felicity makes a fresh pot of coffee for Mister Bad Customer and all three of them wait in awkward silence for it to be ready. It’s the longest few moments of her life and she begins to clean the coffee splatters off the counter as she waits, willing time to move faster. Meanwhile, Oliver shrugs out of his coat and scarf. He hangs them up on the coat rack but all the while his eyes remain trained on the other customer, who’s once more on his phone and oblivious to Felicity and Oliver alike. 

Felicity mentally urges the coffee to brew more quickly and the second it’s done, she’s pouring it into a fresh cup. Her waiting patron puts out a hand without looking up from his phone.

“About time.” He mutters irritably and Felicity sees Oliver glower in her peripheral vision.

“Sorry for the wait. Have a good night.” 

He grunts in response and takes a swig of the drink she’s made for him _again_. Right away, his features curdle in disgust. 

“What the hell are you putting in this? Dirt?” He howls, glaring at her. “How hard is it to make a cup of coffee for crissakes?!” His voice rises with each word and Oliver suddenly places himself firmly between Felicity and the customer.

“You need to leave.” Oliver growls, his voice low and dangerous, a tone she’s never heard him use before. 

“Mind your own business.” The man fires back angrily. “I paid for a cup of coffee. This ain’t it. I’m not leaving here until I get what I paid for!” 

Oliver takes a step closer to the man, who is a good three inches shorter than him. Without taking his eyes off of him, Oliver pulls out his wallet and fishes for a bill. He doesn’t even look at the denomination (it’s a $2o, Felicity realizes with a gulp). Oliver just presses the bill (and his hand) against the man’s chest in a firm and clear warning. 

“You do not speak to her or any other service industry employee like that. Do you hear me?” Oliver warns, his voice a gravelly, guttural sound now. “If I ever catch you raising your voice at her or any other server _anywhere_ , I will personally rip out your vocal cords and shove them up your ass. Do you understand?” 

Oliver pauses and waits. The hesitant nod he gets in response is proof enough that his message has been received loud and clear.

“Keep the change and _get out._ ”

The man flees out the door without another word, leaving Oliver and Felicity alone in the shop, which is silent except for the muted strains of Christmas carols playing in the background. Oliver turns to look at Felicity and the roiling anger, the ice in his eyes - it’s all gone, replaced with a sheepish expression. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that, but not as sorry as I am that you had to deal with him. I hope he wasn’t too bad before I got here.” 

She’s speechless for a moment because no one has _ever_ stood up for her like that before and she would never have guessed in a million years that Oliver, of all customers, would be the one to finally do it for her. 

“N-No. You came just in time,” she stammers, trying to reassure him. He nods, seeming placated by this knowledge. 

“Well, good. I _hate_ when people behave like that. I’d love to get in their faces or maybe throw them against a wall but I have a feeling that would just lead to a lot of lawsuits. So I usually just bite my lip and deprive them of the attention they’re obviously seeking. But that dude? He had to go.” He rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head. “The point is, people suck. I’m sorry you have to deal with them.” 

“They’re not all bad.” 

They share a smile and Felicity is surprised by the butterflies in her stomach. Why is she suddenly so self conscious in front of him? He’s a customer and one of her regulars and honestly, she’s spent the last three quarters of a year tormenting him by intentionally writing the wrong name on his coffee cups. What’s she got to be nervous about? 

“Umm… Anyway.” She shakes her head, trying to dispel her nerves and get their conversation back on track. He’s been here all this time and she still hasn’t taken his order. “What would you like tonight?” She asks in a tired but light tone, smiling at him brightly as she waits for his order. 

And it’s not a forced smile. If _anyone_ was going to walk in her door this close to closing and save her from an irate customer, she’s glad it was him. At least she’ll get to come up with another name, spur of the moment, and then she’ll be able to carry on with her closing tasks. Oliver has become a much more manageable customer, of late. He makes eye contact when he orders, he tips appropriately, doesn’t bother the staff to make fifty million trips to his table, and he keeps his table clean now. Truthfully, he doesn’t even really bother her at all anymore, not even when he orders obnoxiously complicated drinks. 

But she’s still not about to start writing the right name on his cups anytime soon. Not even after his knight in shining armor routine of a minute ago.

“I’d like to try something different tonight,” he responds to her at last. “Does that sound alright to you?” 

She’s taken off guard by the question and despite herself, she tilts her head in thought and studies him for a long minute. 

“Yeah,” she says at last, smiling as she answers him. “That’s alright with me.” 

He nods, a nervous smile on his face before he clears his throat.

“I’d like to order two of whatever you consider to be your favorite drink.” Oliver requests breathlessly, his eyes bright as he watches her, his fingers twitching nervously at his sides. Felicity feels her heart start to hammer loudly in her chest because _what is he playing at?_ She grabs two cups from the stack, her eyes finding his across the counter as the radio carries on playing carols in the background.

 _I don’t want a lot for Christmas_ _  
_ _There is just one thing I need_

“Name for the order?” 

Her stomach goes all to butterflies when he flashes a mile-wide grin at her and runs a hand through his hair. 

“One for ‘Felicity’ and the other for ‘Oscar’.” He suggests and her breathing hitches for a moment because _how?_ How on _Earth_ does he remember the first time she wrote his name wrong on a cup? Surely he had bigger and better things to concern himself with than a silly little coffee shop manager misspelling his name on his morning cup of Joe? 

“You remember that?” 

_Frak_ . She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but well, _she has_. And he’s heard her. His answering smile, however, isn’t one of anger. 

“You wrote it in red pen.” He verifies and she’s so surprised that he remembers, but also because he really seems genuinely charmed by the entire memory of it all. “When everyone around you sucks up to you because of who you are and who your family is, the people that don’t do that become pretty noteworthy. More so if they’re a beautiful blonde coffee shop manager who’s sick of dealing with cranky caffeine addicts and poorly behaved billionaires trying and failing to flirt with them.” 

“I honestly don’t know what to say.” She responds a little breathlessly, scrawling on the cups with a slightly unsteady hand. He just smiles at her and shrugs. 

“Say you’ll have a drink with me?”

The shop is silent again, save for the music. 

_Make my wish come true_ _  
_ _Baby all I want for Christmas is you_

Instead of answering him, she holds up a single finger to ask him to wait and she flits about behind the counter, quickly pulling together the drinks. It only takes her a couple minutes but when she’s done, she motions for him to pull up a seat. 

It’s a few minutes to ten and at this point, she doesn’t care about locking up a little early. She flips the sign on the storefront to ‘CLOSED’ and she latches the door. Once done, she crosses the seating area to join him, holding the two cups before her proudly. 

“I present, for your consideration, a medium, non-fat mocha latte with a caramel drizzle.” The reveal is probably less impressive in reality than what she envisioned in her mind but he seems pretty pleased with it as he holds his hands out expectantly. 

Only _moderately_ nervous now, she places his cup in his waiting hands and sits down beside him, clutching her own drink before her like a talisman. As she watches, Oliver spins the cup to see what she’s written and the grin on his face when he reads it makes her stomach flip and her heart race. 

In all capitals, she’s written ‘OLIVERRR’, with a little smiley face. 

“I’m afraid you misspelled my name.” Oliver teases her and she chuckles.

“I’m afraid I’ve done that a lot.” 

“I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Didn’t you though?” She teases back, cocking her head to the side as she stares him down. He tries to meet her stare with a serious expression of his own but they both break into smiles and laughter after a few moments. 

“This is a great cup of coffee.” He remarks and Felicity can feel the blush in her cheeks but she doesn’t particularly care. 

“I’m glad you like it.” 

“I like it a lot. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask for this particular cup of coffee for a while now.” He admits in a fit of raw honesty and Felicity can’t help but be surprised at this.

“Really? Even after your server wrote ‘Akbar’ and ‘Olaf’ on your cups?”

“Olaf, yeah that one _really_ made Thea’s day. She’s never going to let me live that down, so thanks for that. But yes, even after that. More like ‘especially because of that’.” 

“You’re serious,” she whispers faintly, still unable to quite wrap her head around the idea that Oliver Queen is actually interested in her. The cynical part of her brain warns that this might all be a clever plot to get back at her for the name game but just as quickly as the thought pops into her brain, she squashes it. 

This is no ploy. He’s dead serious. She can tell by looking at him. 

“Very much so, yes.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay as in ‘okay’ or as in _okay_?” Oliver tries to clarify and Felicity stares at him, surprising even herself with her response.

“Okay as in yes. Yes, I will have a drink with you.” It surprises her too but somewhere along the way, she’s stopped dreading him coming into the shop and started looking forward to it. She’s actually disappointed on days he doesn’t walk through her door and order a drink and not just because it means she won’t get to call him by some ridiculous name.

He actually makes her smile now. _Huh_. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow’s Christmas.” She points out and Oliver shrugs.

“So? You don’t celebrate Christmas.” 

“Okay see that, right there. How do you know that?!” This is something she’s been dying to ask him since last week, when he wished her Happy Hanukkah as he left. 

“Because everytime someone wishes you ‘Merry Christmas’, you look over at the menorah over there,” he points to it across the way, glowing merrily in the twinkling lights, “and you made stockings for all the employees, but theirs are red and green and you and Rory have blue. Rory celebrates Hanukkah - and so do you.” Oliver clarifies and she’s baffled by his attention to detail. 

“You are way more observant than I gave you credit for.” 

“In fairness, I spend a _lot_ of time here. Not as much as you, but I’m not working when I’m here and you are.” He shrugs, trying to make light of his attentiveness. 

“Okay, well you’re right, I do celebrate Hanukkah, but _you_ celebrate Christmas, so we can’t have a drink tomorrow. I have a feeling Thea would never forgive me if I stole her big brother on a major holiday. And she’s a really great tipper, so I need her on my side.” Felicity teases with a smile. “Besides, my Mom is coming into town tomorrow to celebrate Hanukkah with me.” She confesses and Oliver nods. 

“Alright then. You tell me when.” 

Felicity shifts in her chair for a moment, contemplating the schedule. Rene is supposed to be back two days after Christmas and Alena will be back by the first week of January but she really doesn’t want to wait until then to get a drink with him. 

Roy has had time to learn the ropes now. But as the newest hire, he's still got a long ways to go and his people skills could use some improvement, to say the least. But she can give him a few extra shifts and it would actually be helping him out while also freeing her up. 

"I have to cover my shifts here first," she tries to explain, afraid he’ll think she’s ghosting him but nothing could be further from the truth.

“It’s alright. I understand. And I can be patient. It hasn’t killed me to wait this long - what’s a little longer?” He reassures her and _when_ did he become so good at this? If he’d spoken to her like this from the get-go, she’d have been hard pressed to resist him. This Oliver? This Oliver is way more charming than the cocky, swaggering Oliver she had first met. 

"So we’re on for drinks then. Date TBD." Oliver confirms, grabbing a napkin from the table dispenser. He puts a hand out in polite request and Felicity passes him the sharpie in her apron pocket. After a moment, he returns it to her along with the napkin, now bearing his phone number and a short message: 

‘ _Your favorite customer_ _  
_ _\- Oscar the grouch’_

She reads his note, unaware of the smile on her face until she looks back up at him and finds him studying her intently. 

“Was that too much? It was too much, wasn’t it?” 

“No! It’s… It’s perfect.” She brushes a stray lock of hair out of her face and glances around. She finds that she really doesn’t want this night to end. Not yet, at least. “You know, I’m going to be here for a while still, cleaning up and stuff… You could stay, if you wanted to. To keep me company.” She tries to act breezy and nonchalant but neither of those are her forte. Anxious and ramble-y are more her speed. 

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t care. 

“I’d love that.” He jumps at the opportunity, glancing around with keen eyes. “Do you have a mop? I can take care of the coffee from you-know-who.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb at the trash can that’s covered in slowly congealing coffee. 

“Are you serious?” Felicity can’t hide her surprise at this offer when he nods she’s totally flabbergasted but willing to capitalize on his generosity. 

“Absolutely.” He’s already rolling up his sleeves so Felicity goes to the back and grabs the supplies. He cleans up the coffee spills while she closes out the register. As she disassembles and cleans the espresso machine, he takes out the trash and then cleans tables. And so it goes. All the while, they talk.

And she finds that he’s… actually really nice? And funny. He’s not just ‘not annoying’ anymore. She actually.... genuinely likes him.

“I had no idea how much work a closing shift at this place could be.” Oliver confesses as they’re halfway through the closing routine. She looks over her shoulder at him from her vantage point cleaning up the self service bar where the customers have made a mess of stirring sticks and sugar packets. 

“Yeah. It doesn’t exactly help when _some_ customers - and I’m not naming names - shred up napkins and the little paper bits go _everywhere_.” She teases - and it genuinely is a joke because at this point, she’s wholly forgiven him. 

Oliver, however, goes stock still and then whirls to face her, aghast. 

“Oh crap, I made more work for you, didn’t I? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just… I got so _nervous_ sitting there day after day, trying to work up the courage to talk to you that I just _had_ to keep my hands busy. I’m so sorry.” 

Now it’s her turn to be appalled. 

“You… you were doing that because you were nervous about _talking to me_? I just thought you were being a jerk and trying to make a mess!” She confesses and Oliver chuckles.

“I wasn’t trying to be a jerk but I clearly was. I”m sorry.” 

“No, I’m sorry for assuming the worst!” She’s stumbling over herself to apologize now.

“Let’s call it even.” Oliver chuckles, pausing in mid-wipedown of the display case to look at her. “What else did you hate about me?” 

“I didn’t hate you.” Felicity tries to argue, though the lie isn’t at all convincing.

“You did. It’s alright, I know you did. I hated you too at first. When you didn’t fall for any of my moves or stupid lines; I was upset. I told myself I didn’t care at first but then the more I got to know you, the more I started to like you and the more it killed me that I had no idea how to get your attention.” 

“You hated me?” She repeats, amazed by this sudden turn of events. 

“Only for a little while, when we first met. You were resistant to my charm. I didn’t like that about you. So then I started ordering the most complicated drink I could concoct as a way of getting back at you.” 

“And now?”

“I’m a fan of yours.” He admits smilingly as he goes back to cleaning. The silence doesn’t last long though - now she’s curious. If she was wrong about the napkins, what else was she wrong about? 

“So all those times you’d ask your servers to bring something to the table…” she trails off expectantly, biting her lip as she awaits his answer. 

“I was hoping you’d be the one to bring whatever I asked for to the table. That didn’t really work for me though, did it?” 

“No, it didn’t.” She admits, feeling guilty for all those times she’d ducked out to get away from him. “What about the tipping thing? You’re like seriously rich. And you don’t tip like it.” 

“I was afraid you would think I was trying to buy you off and I knew you were way too classy to ever forgive me if you thought that’s what I was pulling. It killed me a little though, not to give you a twenty every time you wrote a ridiculous name on my cup. You made my day every time you did that.”

“I do that every time you come in.”

“And every time I come in, you make my day.” 

_God she’s been such an asshole, assuming the worst about him this whole time_. And here he is, saying the absolute sweetest things about and to her. Frak.

“And the lingering? Taking up valuable table real estate for hours at a time?”

She’s not sure she wants to hear his answer. She’s pretty sure it’ll make her feel like an even bigger jerk. And it does. 

“I just… I like watching you work. You’re a genuinely happy person and it shows in the care you take with the people you interact with. And since _I_ couldn’t interact with you, I at least wanted to watch you interact with other people.”

Yep. She’s a total jerk. And this whole time, he’s been a nicer, kinder guy than she’d ever realized. 

They lapse into a comfortable silence as they both work on completing their tasks. It’s getting late and she still has to go home and clean her place in preparation for her mom’s arrival but she finds that she really doesn’t want to say goodbye. Not yet. 

She draws out the last few closing tasks but eventually, there’s nothing more for them to do but turn off the lights and lock up. He helps her into her coat and then pulls his own back on. It’s as he’s wrapping his scarf around his neck that the idea hits her and she steps hurriedly across the room.

“Hey, real quick - can you come over here? I need your help with one last thing before we go.” Felicity murmurs and Oliver follows, only too happy to lend his assistance. 

“Sure, what do you need?” He asks as she comes to a halt at the table nearest the corner window. When she turns to face him she smiles.

“You.” 

His brows slant together in confusion and she sees his mouth open to form the question. Before he can say anything though, she points simply at the ceiling above. His eyes follow the direction she’s indicated and she can tell the exact moment that he sees it, because his whole body tenses in surprise. 

It’s a small sprig of mistletoe, hung from the ceiling with red ribbon. She’d almost forgotten that she’d placed it there in the middle of her holiday decorating spree. They’re both standing under it now and she can see how surprised he is by this latest development. After a moment of unresponsiveness from him, she begins to worry she’s overplayed her hand. 

“Y-You don’t have to. This was a stupid idea, I’m sorry-” she rambles apologetically, moving as though to go. It’s then that he grabs her gently but firmly by the waist and pulls her back under the mistletoe and into his arms. 

“Felicity, you’re brilliant. You don’t _have_ stupid ideas.” He murmurs in her ear, his face remarkably close to hers. 

And then he kisses her. And it’s not a quick peck on the lips. This is a full five course meal type of kiss. It’s a deep kiss that builds and she feels it all the way in her toes. She opens her mouth as he kisses her and his tongue brushes hers and _wow_. 

Yeah. He’s good at this. 

In short order, she’s breathless, her cheeks are flushed, and he’s pinned her against the wall where they’ve continued kissing and pawing at each other like a couple of oversexed teenagers. When at last they break apart, their breathing is ragged and both of their hair is mussed. But she’s so delighted by this new development that she couldn’t care less. 

They stay like that - her pinned against the wall, him leaning against her, kissing passionately - for some time before he stirs and presses a more gentle kiss to her lips. 

“I should let you go.” He whispers, though she can tell by the reluctance in his tone that he doesn’t want to leave her even as he gently sets her back on the floor and they begin to walk towards the shop entrance in step with each other. 

“You know… If you get done with Christmas early tomorrow, I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind if you joined us. Just... if you felt like celebrating Hanukkah. Although I should warn you, my mom can be a lot to handle and she has a terrible habit of saying the most inappropriate things at the-”

“-Yes.” He cuts her off, his eyes bright with joy. “I would love to celebrate Hanukkah with you.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously.” 

“O-Okay.” She beams, surprised at his eagerness and a little alarmed at the idea of what her mother will say when she sees him. God, what’s she just gotten him into? He has no idea the insanity of which Donna Smoak is capable. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He confirms as he opens the door for her and the bell jangles merrily overhead. She nods as she steps through the door, flipping off the light switch as she goes. When they’re both outside, she turns to lock the place up behind her, her head still in the clouds after their late night smooching session. 

“Yeah… I guess you will.” She smiles. They linger for a few moments (and another kiss) more and then, reluctantly, they part ways. She makes it eleven steps before she turns back to look at him. When she does, he’s already looking back at her too, his expression every bit as delightedly dazed as she feels.

\-----

When he shows up at her place the next day, he brings gelt, candles, a beautiful leather bound copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, and even a bottle of Kosher wine as gifts. ( _“I wasn’t sure if you keep Kosher or not, so I decided to air on the side of caution”_ ). 

Felicity has zero idea how he managed to get all of this between eleven o’clock last night and now but she doesn’t question it. He is, after all a billionaire. He has his ways. 

Her mother swoons over him on sight but for once, Felicity doesn’t mind her mother being completely smitten. Because the truth is, Felicity’s pretty smitten with Oliver too. 

And the best part? She’s pretty sure he feels the same way about her. 

The second best part comes when her mom goes to the bathroom. The moment the door closes behind her, they’re on each other, making out in the kitchen in between the latkes and the roast chicken. They only break apart when they hear the sound of the bathroom door opening and it’s all she can do not to groan in disappointment at having to cut their kissing short.

She likes kissing him. She likes kissing him _a lot_. 

Oliver, sensing her dismay, attempts to lift her spirits.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bottle of wine he’s brought. Grinning at his question, Felicity nods as her mother reappears, completely unaware of the makeout session she’s only narrowly missed. Winking at Felicity as he pours her a healthy glass of red, Oliver can’t resist teasing her in front of her mother. 

“And what’s the name for the order?”


End file.
